Odora cleared the table and washed the dishes, and when she walked past the narrow gap of light under Marin's door, she could hear the sound of the girl not crying, the deliberate quiet of someone holding something back in a small room. Odora stood in the hallway for a moment. Then she went to her own room and sat on the edge of the bed and thought. She asked Garrick the next morning when the girls had gone to school, and Harland Mott had come and gone with the day's instructions for the hands. Garrick was at the table with his coffee and the ranch ledger.
The ledger was always open, always there, a third presence at every meal. He was the kind of man who looked at numbers the way other men looked at weather, trying to read something in them that might change by tomorrow. Odora sat down across from him without being asked. He glanced up. I need to talk to you about the girls, she said.
What's wrong? Nothing's wrong, but I want to ask you something. He waited. When did your daughters last receive dresses made for them? Garrick's expression did something complicated.
Not guilt exactly. Something more like the look of a man who has just realized a door he thought was locked had been standing open. Elizabeth used to make I know that, Odora said. I'm asking when last. He set his coffee down.
He looked at the ledger, then away from it, which told her more than any words would before she died. That's three winters ago. The ranch. I've seen your ledger, Odora said, not unkindly. I'm not asking you to explain the finances.
I'm asking if you understand what that means for them. Marin's skirt hem has been let down as far as it will go. Bess's stockings are half darned. Tilda's coat has a brown patch on a gray sleeve. She paused.
They have a Christmas program in 6 weeks. Garrick looked at her steadily. She didn't look away. I'll see what I can arrange after calving, he said. Spring sale, the program is in December, Miss Finch.
His voice was patient in the way that suggested patience was costing him something. I understand, but winter feed alone this year cost me more than I'd budgeted by a third. The bank note comes due in April. Every dollar I have has already been spoken for twice. He opened the ledger and turned it toward her, and she looked at the numbers because he seemed to need her to look at them.
Column after column in neat, careful handwriting income thin on one side, obligations stacked on the other. He was not lying. The ranch was surviving in the way that meant it was barely surviving. After calving, he said again, "I promise." Odora looked at the ledger for a moment longer.